But the stipulations usually meant death, assets given over to another family house, or arranged marriages to strengthen ties and bonds and form alliances.
I was about to fold the papers back up when I got to the bottom and everything in me stilled. The fighter who signed the contract scrawled his name on the bottom.
D'yavol.
But it wasn’t the fighter's ominous Russian name that had me freezing. I knew that signature, that penmanship I’d seen many times throughout my life. I stared at the signature, at the “A” that had the same swooping curve as I did.
My heart raced; my stomach turned.
My brother.
My hands shook as I reread the paperwork. Gio was fighting for the Bratva? He was working for—maybe with—Dmitry? I didn’t understand any of this. It wasn’t like he needed the money. Our family had wealth. Gio had notoriety and loyalty from those around him.
The only thing that made sense was Gio doing this as an outlet for his rage, for all that male aggression and dark need that he kept bottled up.
I looked toward the door to the bedroom, my heart in my throat, my hand suddenly feeling clammy. I felt a wave of sudden betrayal from Dmitry and Gio.
I wish Gio would have felt honest with me, but I knew Gio was violent and reveled in bloodshed.
I felt that sting of betrayal with Dmitry because I felt like we had been close these past five years even if it was been one sided, even if I knew why he wouldn’t have said anything before we were married.
I tried to sift through my brain on any little detail that I might’ve missed over the years that would’ve told me what was actually going on. I thought about the lunch we’d just had, where Nikolai had wanted us to go to a fight.
Now that I was really thinking about my brother-in-law's expression, how he’d smirked and glanced at Gio… He’d wanted me to know. He wanted to out Gio.
I kept going further back, dissecting the past.
I remembered when Dmitry had gotten arrested all those years ago, when the underground fight had been raided. I’d been only fifteen, had been staying with Amara and Nikolai, and tried to call Gio to tell him I was staying. But he hadn’t answered the call. Had he been there at the fight? Obviously he hadn’t gotten arrested, but even then I found it strange he hadn’t answered.
I folded the paperwork back and put it in Dmitry’s pocket, then just stood there for a moment, feeling dizzy and nauseous.
I walked back toward the bedroom and stood beside the bed, staring at Dmitry. I ran my hands up and down my thighs, wiping away the dampness from my palms. There was no way I was going to sleep.
Dmitry stirred and opened his eyes, still laying on his stomach as he stared at me.
“Krasavitsa,” he murmured sleepily and held out his hand.
I took his hand and let him pull me onto the bed. He covered me with the sheet and then pressed my back to his chest. He threw a leg over me, his arm a band around my abdomen, his face buried in my nape as he inhaled deeply and groaned in pleasure.
I felt him relax further as he went back to sleep, but all I could do was keep thinking about when I planned on confronting my husband about my brother being the devil.
Chapter 42
Claudia
Dmitry had gotten a call from Nikolai early this morning saying there was a pop-up underground fight happening, and that we should go tonight. He said Amara was coming, as was Tatiana, whom he’d growled had invited herself.
I eavesdropped, trying to act like I wasn’t, but ever since finding that paperwork and realizing what Gio had been up to, now more than ever, I was curious.
I’d been able to hear Nikolai’s deep voice through the receiver when Dmitry had stood beside me, touching me, as if he hadn’t been able to stop himself. But then they switched to Russian, which thwarted my plans to be nosy.
I knew he probably would have told me something if I’d just asked, but it wouldn’t have been the full truth. And honestly I didn’t want to know about everything he did.
I’d dealt with enough violence in my life when I lived with my father, but I didn’t need to know about my husband’s affiliations and dealings, too.
I still expected honesty—to an extent—and respect, and that meant Dmitry telling me what was going on when it concerned my family.
We sat in Dmitry’s Drako GTE, the music on low enough that it was more like white noise than entertainment.
He downshifted and the car sped up. I glanced at him, nibbling my bottom lip as my nerves rose.
Would I see Gio tonight in the ring as D'yavol?
“What’s on your mind, my sweet girl?”